I'm On A Train

Dear Random Dude on the Red Line,

Hey, how’s it going man? Are you having a good morning? I bet you’re thinking: it’s Thursday, the work week (if you even have a job) is coming to a close, I got some cool shit (at least whatever a man of your character considers that to be) going on this weekend and I just stepped on to an almost empty T car @ 8AM which is about as rare as seeing a one eyed dog. Just a note here as I got myself thinking, my writing style basically consists of run-on sentences. Oh how Mrs. Cupp would scream at me if she were reading this. I mean it’s not totally impossible but when you see a one eyed dog, much like a near empty T car at this time, you really reflect and wonder how the hell that happened.

Anyway, dude, you get on to this empty car and look around, here’s where I take exception to your actions/lifestyle/hating your dad. You’re looking around, I can see the excitement in your eyes, wondering where the hell am I going to settle myself for the next 20-25 minutes? I have so many options and options are a beautiful thing, I agree. So you’re looking around, first to the right, wow three people all in seats and then to the left, four seats out of a possible six seats available and then there’s me, standing in the doorway that leads betwixt subway cars.

I am minding my own business. I’m reading the WSJ, I have headphones on (iPod shuffle has taken me to a little land I like to call MGMT town this morning) and I look up to see if any hot chicks are getting on, I notice you peering around, and all of a sudden your logical decision making skills turn off. This is where I’m utterly confused. There’s six total feet between the door you just used to enter the train and myself. You’ve already assessed the situation to the right of you and HAD to have noticed that there was a plethora of seating available. HAD TO HAVE! In this time, your split second of indecision, an attractive (T attractive (I’ll break down that another time)) lady steps on and moves toward me. SWEET. I now can relax the WSJ and ogle this girl for the extent of my miserable ride to work. As she sits down in the seat to my immediate right and smiles at me (I obviously smile/head nod back at her) you in your pathetic tight eh I borrowed these from my girlfriend jeans, effin wicked gay ass haircut, bracelets and shit and just overall non-showered appearance make the executive decision to come stand RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME. I mean, again, you HAD to have seen this but you still came and stood perpendicular to me totally invading my personal space (my bubble of Vibe if you will (you will don’t fight it)).

I’m totally aghast, I don’t even want to write you this letter anymore but I’ll continue. You’re a douche bag. That’s actually the end of it. I’m not continuing. I hate you. You should know that you ruined the first couple hours of what would turn out to be an awesome day. Stand next to me again, I dare you. Seriously.


-Squid